


Rebuilding Trust

by Kalla_Moonshado



Category: Warcraft (2016), Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: (sorry no cuddling-because-cold), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Application of a giant Clue-By-Four, Canceled Winter Veil, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Giant Effing Blizzard, Karazhan, M/M, Touches of Domesticy, Uncanceled New Year, gratuitous fluff, post-movie canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28657197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalla_Moonshado/pseuds/Kalla_Moonshado
Summary: LionTrust Secret Santa 2020 Prompt Fic.The battle at Karazhan left the leylines and surrounding energies a mess.This mess causes a blizzard of legendary proportions to hit the continent, and there is only one person able to sort it out - but he's not stupid enough to do it alone, not if Anduin Lothar has his way.
Relationships: Khadgar/Anduin Lothar, Liontrust - Relationship
Comments: 18
Kudos: 20
Collections: Liontrust 2020 Secret Santa





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> LionTrust Secret Santa 2020 Prompt:  
> (SFW only) celebration of the new year (can be au or canon I’m not picky)
> 
> So, a ficlet of a snowstorm turned into something a bit longer. Sorry, not sorry!  
> I'll post a chapter or two a day until it's all up!

Stormwind was not known for being frigid. The past year, however, had thrown many things into disarray, considering the series of events that occurred at the top of Karazhan. The flow of the ley lines deep beneath the earth was disrupted, and though they were starting to get back to normal (at least, so far as Khadgar could tell), there had still been a major disruption.

When snow began to fall over the city, no one thought much of it. When the blizzard came in off the sea, however, there was cause for concern. No one was upset by the howling wind - the city was called Stormwind for a reason - but the bitter cold and the whiteout conditions meant that where one might have been able to see their neighbor’s home from their window, now they could not. The grand Cathedral was a blur in the distance. The Keep was a larger outline in a sea of other outlines - all of them white. Not even the roof tiles that had been dyed or painted could break the solidness of the white the blizzard shrouded the city with.

Market days were interrupted by sharp winds driving tiny crystals of ice into the fabric of cloak and coat and into skin, and it looked as though the Feast of Winter’s Veil celebrations would be for nothing.

Not even Greatfather Winter would travel in this. Even though the dwarves had insisted that he was used to snowy weather, blizzards, and the like, they had their concerns. Considering that Dun Morogh was currently under several _feet_ of snow right now, more than normal, there was doubt on the dwarven traditions all around.

The conditions had lowered morale across the board. From the farmers to the merchants, to the traders, to the royal family, everyone wondered when the snow would finally stop.

Anduin Lothar stared out at the expanse of white - from ground to sky - and sighed. There had been a time he’d have gone out at this time of afternoon to check on the new guards and soldiers. So many had been lost in … the conflict. So many of these new ones were green, hardly older than new adult. He suspected a few were younger. He prayed, though his faith in the Light had been diminished over time and circumstance, that these green ones would be honed and tempered, broken in and seasoned without having to face orcs _first_. Gnolls and murlocs were enough of a threat to season, but not enough to be the danger the Gurubashi had brought, or the orcs that had taken so much.

He turned from the window, realizing that the all-encompassing _nothingness_ was affecting his mood. Never a day went by that he didn’t dearly miss his son, Medivh and Llane, his lieutenants, every man and woman who had ever taken a command from him that had been lost. But he was sinking into something worse now.

Running a hand down his face, he tried to decide what to do with himself. He couldn’t concentrate on the documents he had been poring over since dawn - so that was out. He couldn’t visit the training grounds - no one was outdoors unless they absolutely had to be in this mess. The gardens were out of the question. The courtyard was just as laughable.

“You’re going stir-crazy, aren’t you?” The voice, heralding a welcome distraction, caused Lothar to look up. And smile. His sister, the pillar of strength he’d always known, leaned in the doorway watching her brother with a shrewd expression.

“Isn’t everyone?” he countered, crossing the room to lean on the other side of the doorway. “I’ve never seen a storm like this in all my years and travels.”

“I don’t think anyone has, if what Khadgar has to say is anything to go by. I am sure there are some places that might get this weather - Alterac is in the mountains in the north. Surely they have seen something of the like, but nothing like this.” Taria sighed. “The children are restless. The servants are restless. We are restless. It has to calm at some point.”

Lothar snorted. “If what Khadgar said is any indication, then this was caused by magic messing with nature. It could end tonight, or it could go on for a week. It’s unpredictable.” He paused, frowning. “Where is the bookworm anyway?”

“Where else would he be? He’s in the library. I think you should go talk to him.” Taria crossed her arms over her chest, giving her brother a Look.

“Me? Why me?”

“He’s blaming this on himself.”

Lothar groaned. “Tell me this is a joke, Taria.”

“Not a joke. Anduin, listen - this past year has been harder on him than we might think. He ran from his home. Followed instinct to warn us to find the Guardian. Watched said Guardian go down a spiral that hurt us all. And though he more or less told the other mages to stuff their Guardianship in their nethers—”

“Taria!”

“—he is still considered the Guardian until they have found and trained a new Novitiate, which as you know won’t occur for several years, considering they are chosen at eleven, and Medivh was in no way planning to step down just yet.” Brother and sister glared at one another in only the way a brother and sister can.

Finally, Lothar dropped his eyes and sighed. “All right. I’ll talk to him. No idea what I’m supposed to say, though. ‘Sorry you killed one of my best friends and feel you have to clean up the mess his hubris left’? Really, Taria. What do I say?”

She looked at him with a wry smile. “You might start with ‘I don’t blame you’. Just a suggestion.”

Lothar resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he nodded once, then set off for the library.

* * *

Khadgar had settled himself in one corner of the library, taking over two of the tables and appropriating one of the more comfortable chairs. By the time Lothar found him, the tables were spread with books, notebooks, loose sheets of paper, ink bottles, two glass pens, a handful of quills that looked like they had spells cast on them, a knife (presumably to sharpen the quills considering the thin, curled shavings beside them), and a handful of stones and crystals.

Khadgar himself was leaning back in the chair, a book floating in front of him, and he was reading intently - or at least his eyes were rapidly moving from one side to the other. His hands were toying with small globe of some green stone - a healthy green, however, not Fel green. Aventurine or jade, perhaps bloodstone, or chrysoberyl or chrysoprase or emerald. Lothar knew the stones - having been friends with Medivh, he learned more about mystical crystals and gemstones than he ever wanted to - but could never tell them apart. The mage’s lips were moving vaguely, and it was obvious to anyone who had eyes that he had not heard Lothar come in.

Anduin Lothar was not stupid. He knew very well what happened if you startled a mage. He did not want to take responsibility for the library’s destruction. He would never hear the end of it from Llane’s ghost. Or Medivh’s for that matter. Or Taria. He moved forward to stand across one of the tables, and cleared his throat. At once, Khadgar’s hand lifted from the globe he toyed with, holding up a single finger.

_Huh. Maybe he did hear me. Or see me._

Khadgar finished his passage and looked up, gesturing with the hand he had lifted so the book settled with the rest. “Commander,” he greeted pleasantly. “What can I do for you?” He showed no signs of irritation at being interrupted. Lothar took this as a good sign.

“I … ah. I was hoping to talk to you.” Khadgar tilted his head but said nothing, clearly waiting for Lothar to go on. The regent king looked around, noting that this was not exactly a private place. “Somewhere with a little more privacy.”

Khadgar looked at him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly as he set the stone in his hand with the others, then nodded. He carefully closed the ink bottles to be sure they would not be spilled, then closed his notebooks and shifted his notes - but left the books where they were. He stood up, winced, and groaned as several loud pops emitted from his back and legs. It seemed the last few months really had worn on the young mage. In fact…

Lothar suddenly realized that the young mage didn’t _look_ as young as he did just a few months ago. He looked tired, and though his face was still somewhat youthful, his hair had dulled and the roots were starting to come in silver. He had given up on the beard he had been attempting, but the smooth chin only highlighted the hollow of his throat, the tendons standing out when he moved. If he didn’t know better, he would swear Khadgar was closer to his own age, or older.

Before the mage could get suspicious of his hesitation, he jerked his head toward the door, then started that way, listening carefully to the footsteps that followed. He led them to a seldom-used sitting room that had once been one of Medivh’s favorite places. They had shared conversation here, chess games, and laughter with Llane a long, long time ago. It felt like centuries. Medivh’s last visit had been more than a decade ago. Their last visit had been only a few years ago - but…

Lothar shook his head as he closed the door behind Khadgar, then moved to one of the chairs and settled on it, rather than in it. Khadgar perched on the chair facing him, now looking curious. Lothar noted that the eyes, which had been rich and deep were now bleached an indeterminate color of muddy grey. He realized that Taria was right - the conflict had been _hard_ on the mage.

Khadgar seemed to realize he was being scrutinized and turned his head, lowering his eyes. “I have a mirror,” he said, quietly, before Lothar could speak. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

Lothar sighed. “I’m sure you do,” he said, just as quietly. “But I’m certain you do not see what the rest of us do - and that is a part of what I wanted to talk to you about.” When Khadgar raised his head to look at the commander, one eyebrow slightly raised, Lothar nodded and continued. “I have never been one to know anything about magic or how it works. I knew some of the things Medivh could do. The result part, not necessarily how it came about or the price he paid. And I know that now - there is a price. I saw it in him, near the end. And now I see it in you.” He paused, and bit the inside of his cheek, trying to find words that hopefully would not offend the other man - for that’s what he was; there was no mistaking that. This young mage had done more than any normal, non-magical person could fathom. “I want to apologize,” he finally managed. “And there is something that you need to understand. That _I_ need you to understand.”

Khadgar shifted uncomfortably in his chair, though his face betrayed that he was stunned by the words. He lifted his hands in a placating gesture, as though trying to stop the words. He opened his mouth, and Lothar was sure he was going to try to downplay his role in everything; Medivh always did. He was the Guardian, it was only what he should do; it was nothing, he would do it again without hesitation. Words that he and Llane had heard over and over while they didn’t see what their friend was going through, while they didn’t see what was happening right in front of their eyes - until it was too late.

“None of this was your fault, Khadgar.” The words rang over Khadgar’s attempted protests, and the mage’s hands lowered. The bleached-out eyes widened. “You came here to warn us. I admit that we did not seem all that willing to listen to you - because we weren’t. We grew up with Medivh. If he did not come with a warning, nothing could be wrong. You stood your ground. You _made_ us listen. Perhaps it wasn’t in time for Llane - but… He would not believe anything ill of Medivh. What you and I have been through is something that he would not have understood unless he was there. And he was gone before I could make him see. That is my own burden to bear. Not yours. This storm - you mentioned it was the result of the disturbed lines or whatever happened when… when we killed that demon.” His eyes closed as he tried to think of it that way - and not having watched his best friend turn into that … thing. “That’s not something you could control either. You did what you had to.”

He heard Khadgar shift again and opened his eyes. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw - Khadgar’s hands were pressed to his eyes, and it was clear he was trying and failing to control his expression. Before Lothar could speak again, Khadgar did.

“He tried to explain,” he said, his voice wavering only a little. “After you’d left, and after he… after he used the last of his strength to save as many as he could. Neither of us could see what was happening in the south, but he did try. Held a portal to Stormwind until he was bled dry. Tried to explain to me that it was the isolation. I heard similar in Dalaran from Alodi. When Alodi told me I could succeed where Medivh could not and why. He had friends, that he was ordered to leave behind. I think what he was trying to tell me was that because of that isolation, he was lonely - it was the loneliness, he said. It was the Guardian’s weakness.” Khadgar lowered his hands, slowly. “I never had friends. People who listened to me or trusted me or … whatever it was you and the others had. I never thought of myself as lonely until I stopped working with you. It may not have been much, but it was _something_.” He waved a hand in the vague direction of ‘outside’. “And now, you can’t deny that once I showed up, people _died_. There is an upheaval in people’s lives. This storm is just the most recent bit of it. Worse, even what books Medivh has left here and the tomes in Thalassian I have found have nothing whatsoever - thus far - useful to say on how to _stop_ it.” His hand dropped to rest on the arm of his chair. “You didn’t trust me when I showed up - because I’m a mage. Do you really think everyone who has seen me anywhere near here or knows I’ve come from Dalaran or been to Karazhan is going to trust me? Do you really think they’re not going to blame me?”

Lothar held Khadgar’s eyes for a few heartbeats, then lowered his. He was right, and though not a single soldier who had been saved by one of Khadgar’s spells would speak ill of him, the citizens who knew Medivh had saved them erected a statue - and now… there was a new, younger mage who had turned their lives upside down… and Medivh was dead. It was not _public_ knowledge who killed him or how he died, but it was also not kept secret. There was not much charitable thought towards mages right now. Even for the one currently called “Guardian”, as he was currently called “King-Regent”. Neither of them were the titles others fit them with. They were a rogue Guardian Novitiate and a regent stand-in who was still the Commander of the Guard. Lothar ran a hand down his face, trying to find words that would help. Or, at least find words that would do no more damage.

“I hate to say it,” Lothar finally sighed, “but you’re right. They do, they will, and there is nothing I can say either way to stop them. Once Antonidas left the city, the rumors began flying - because you told him you would not take the title. I know why. I’m sure you made _him_ aware of why. The fact is, you are the _acting_ Guardian as much as I am the _acting_ king-regent. I don’t know how to help. I’m floundering as much as you are.” He looked up at Khadgar, and waited until he caught the mage’s eye again. “What I can say is that it was more than ‘not much’, working with you. You’re right. I didn’t trust you when you showed up out of nowhere. The longer you persisted, stood your ground against me, against Llane, against Medivh… the more I saw. You’ve got brass where it counts. And when you snapped at me just before dragging us to Karazhan? That got my attention. I don’t care about titles or magocraties or whatever politics Dalaran plays. In that moment, you threw games of politics aside, ran headlong through formalities and instead of deferring to authority, you _seized it_. You were more Azeroth’s Guardian in that moment than Medivh had been most of his life. Such action could have been seen as treason. But it was obvious you didn’t care. Your only goal was to stop what went wrong and put it right - and nothing was going to get in your way. But you also didn’t try it alone.”

“I knew I could trust you. I knew I’d made you see that there was something wrong. I just… I wish the price hadn’t been so high. And I’m sorry.” Lothar closed his eyes. He knew it wasn’t Medivh’s fault that his son was killed, but it still stung. Medivh had done what he needed to, and it was more than he could handle. At least…

“Medivh was too proud to find help, Khadgar. You were very different. You came to me. You went to Dalaran. You didn’t charge in by yourself. And that earned my respect more than anything else you’ve done for this kingdom. This _world_ even. I am sorry for a lot of things that have happened since you showed up. But, considering the results in the end, I don’t think I would change it.”

Khadgar blinked and stared at Lothar for a long moment, his mouth opening a little in surprise. Lothar couldn’t help smiling a little at how young it made the mage look - how typical it had been to see that very expression when Khadgar was shocked or startled or at a loss for words as his mind whirled. He missed that look.

“Now let me say this - you say that it ‘wasn’t much’, but it obviously meant something to you. I have to admit that you annoyed the hell out of me for a while, but you grew on me, kid. Like I said, you’ve got brass where it counts. So let me put all of this in another perspective. _I_ don’t blame you for what’s happened. _I_ don’t blame you for this storm. Or the orcs. Or Medivh and Llane. I blame the heart of the issue - which is the city from which you came. I blame Medivh’s enforced isolation. I blame these vows you have to take.” Lothar dropped his eyes, sighed and shook his head. “Let me be blunt, like the soldier I am. You don’t have to be lonely. The children adore you. Taria puts down anything off said about you, and so do I. I don’t give a flying fuck what anyone else has to say. It was _you_ who saved this kingdom. _You_ who saw through what Dalaran didn’t want you to see. You’ve _earned_ your place here.” He looked up and smiled. “So, tell me. How can I help?”

Khadgar was silent, the shock on his face the only evidence of what might be going on in his head. The muddied eyes closed and Lothar pretended not to see the glitter of tears as they fell.


	2. Two

The blizzard, thankfully, did not extend as far south as Karazhan. The deadness of the land around it was more than creepy enough, as was the oppressing silence. The damage extended up into Brightwood, but that could not be helped.

“It may take centuries for this to heal,” Khadgar lamented, looking around the valley. “If it does at all.”

Lothar only sighed. He had known this valley below Deadwind Pass to be verdant and lush, providing for the tower and her occupants. It had fallen to some disrepair since Medivh dismissed everyone but Moroes, but now it was as dead as the Pass above. The tower, which had once been white and gleaming, looked just as dead - the stones grey and darkening almost as they watched. Rather than the beacon of hope it once represented, it now looked ominous and angry, clearly touched by the Fel that had taken her last residents.

“I don’t know what to expect,” Khadgar warned. “The magic here is unpredictable at the best of times - which is part of why the Guardian resides here. But it is now _wild_ and unpredictable. Don’t trust everything you see.”

“Is there anything you can do about that?” Lothar asked, hopeful, but not expecting a positive answer.

“There is, but it will take time. A lot of time. Probably a lot more time than I have before the next Novitiate is brought here.” Khadgar frowned, and leaned down to run his hands through the grey, dusty soil that looked more like ash than anything that would support life. “Damage is deeper than I thought.” He stood up and shook his hand, wiping his fingers absently on his tunic. “If nothing else, I can start the process now that the political messes are calmer.”

Khadgar moved towards the once-beautiful marble courtyard, where he and Lothar first landed, and looked up. Lothar did the same, and wondered what was going on inside the bookworm’s head. The tower loomed over them, even in the bright, but hazy light of the sun through the overcast sky above. There was a dark quality here that had not been here on that occasion, or even when he and Khadgar had arrived to put a stop to Medivh’s madness. _The demon’s madness,_ he corrected himself. _Whatever that thing was, it was no longer Medivh – not entirely, anyway._ Once again, he felt a pang of regret for not having visited in six years. Perhaps all of this mess could have been avoided if Medivh had not… well. He made that mistake once. He would make certain it was not repeated with Khadgar.

“May as well go in. I warded, but did not lock – I was never given a key. Wouldn’t for years yet.” Khadgar seemed to gather himself, and strode to the doors, gesturing at them, and then opening them.

Lothar didn’t know if the place even had keys. Moroes had taken care of all of that – but neither of them had the chance to look when they were here last. With another sharp pang, Lothar realized that he didn’t even know if Medivh’s body still lay crushed under that golem in the font, with Moroes, drained and dessicated nearby. He shuddered.

The lower floors had been spared the damage from the battle above. The bookshelves were still neatly floating, waiting to be called down to be accessed. The place was a little dusty, but otherwise looked the way it did when the two had passed through this room before, and Lothar had…

Automatically, Lothar looked up at the spiraling staircase. He could still hear Moroes’ easy humor. Could still feel a hand patting his shoulder as they climbed. Moroes never tired of picking at Lothar, out of breath halfway up. He never tired of those stairs either. Then again, they were up and down those stairs every day. No one could ever accuse the Guardian of being lazy. At least until said Guardian learned to teleport. At least coming down all that way was easier than going up. Would he ever have a reason to climb those stairs again? Would the next steward, or castellan or caretaker or … whatever Moroes’ title was be as kind and loving as Moroes? Lothar realized he would probably never know. Neither he nor Llane ever had dealings with the Guardian prior to Medivh; Llane’s father may have known him, but had never said. None of them ever discussed what would happen when Medivh stepped down – if that’s what happened to them. Was that another of their secrets? Did they burn out when the next Novitiate was ready? It would certainly explain why Medivh, never having known Khadgar, would have been hostile at first.

“Don’t.”

The word shook Lothar from his musings, and he turned to find Khadgar at his left elbow, one hand lifted as though to rest it on his shoulder.

“Huh?”

“Don’t dwell on it. I can almost hear what you’re thinking. I… I never said anything to you about them, but I took care of it. I can take you there, if you like.” Khadgar’s voice was quiet enough that the words didn’t echo, and that unnerved Lothar to the core. This place always echoed.

“Take me? Take me where?”

“There’s … There’s a crypt. A graveyard for all those who breathed their last in the Guardian’s service, and a crypt for the Guardians dating all the way back to the very first, Alodi.” Khadgar lowered his hand. “I performed what rites were necessary for both.”

That got Lothar’s attention. “ _You_? Why not a priest – or—”

Khadgar shook his head. “In the event that a Guardian has not died before the successor is ready to step in, it…” He paused, looking pained. “Then it is is for the successor to perform once the current Guardian has fallen.” Lothar raised an eyebrow – Khadgar’s tone was disgusted and angry at the same time.

“What?”

Khadgar smiled, though it did not reach his eyes, and there was no humor in his voice when he spoke. “Medivh was hostile to me when I came here. The Novitiate doesn’t come here until their time. If there is still a living Guardian, the Novitiate removes them in ritual … consumption.”

“What the fuck does _that_ mean?”

Khadgar looked at Lothar for a long moment, looking every inch the age he had started to resemble. “We essentially drain them to nothing and kill them so the title and powers of said title passes on at the right time. It has not been necessary for a few generations – it is far more common for the Guardian to either die naturally or be killed before the next is ready to move in.”

Lothar blanched, and returned his eyes to the staircase. “What would have happened to Medivh, then?”

“He was well on his way to burning out,” Khadgar said reluctantly. “Overwork, isolation, madness, research, experiments, always pushing, never resting. Prestigious title, heavy responsibility, a never ending supply of power – a Guardian seldom lasts past their fourth decade.” He reached out and this time did manage to rest a hand on Lothar’s shoulder. “He would have died in the next five years, when I would be ready to replace him. My coming here while he was still alive was, to us, an ill omen. He knew what I was even if he didn’t know _who_ I was.” He let his hand fall as he turned away. “Had I not renounced my vows, I would have had every right to kill him when I walked through the doors.”

Lothar shuddered. “But… you – you wouldn’t have…”

“No. I would not. There are many reasons I told Antonidas what I did. There was more than just the war. More than the fact that they wouldn’t listen to me. More than the fact that I fled the city. When I was eleven, things looked and felt different. Medivh was a long way away. Already ancient. It would be ages before I would be ready to take his place. But at nineteen, things looked different. A Guardian has to be ruthless, yes, it is one reason they are isolated, to be sure that they form no bonds to cloud their judgement. But I am not someone who can commit murder, even ritually, just to claim a title over another living, thinking being. When I was taught the rites to remove the former Guardian, should they not be gone before my ascension, I realized just how – ah. How would you put it? ‘Fucked up’? - they really are.” Without another word, Khadgar moved away, and Lothar lost him in the bookshelves.

* * *

The stack of books grew as Khadgar discarded them one by one. “Nothing here either. Not even a history on the tower. No line map, no historic measurements of their movements, no mention of any disturbances… This is impossible!”

Lothar slid several books back onto the shelf from which they came, shaking his head. They’d been at this for hours after their macabre discussion. He, sadly, was no help other than putting the books back where they’d been. He knew nothing of the subject matter within them, other than the shelf on military tactics – some of those books he had read, though from Stormwind’s library, not Karazhan’s. He looked up to find that some of the lights had lit, though it seemed they were reluctant. Others flickered. Others still had not even tried. The windows were dark.

“We should be thinking of getting back. It’s dark.” Lothar picked up another stack and moved to shelve it.

“It’s what?” Khadgar looked up, possibly for the first time since he started calling shelves and books from said shelves to his hands. His neck cracked loudly in protest.

“Dark. Sun gone. Stars out. Late.” Lothar turned back toward Khadgar once he had finished shelving his pile. “Time to be getting back, to be getting dinner, and be getting to bed to start again in the morning?”

Khadgar looked down at the book he was reading and sighed. “Right.” He reached for a scrap of paper and wrote something on it, then blew on it to dry the ink before setting it between the pages and closing the book. He stood, and his entire body sounded as though someone nearby was crushing wood. Lothar winced in sympathy.

Khadgar looked up, frowned at the lights and sighed. “I’ll have to do something about those,” he said softly. “Right – come on. I’ll get us back home.” As he moved to the base of the stairs, he paused, frowned, then smiled, as though he realized what it was he just said. Lothar internally cheered. It was about time. Then again, he had wondered where Khadgar had called home since he left the Kirin Tor. He certainly wasn’t afraid of rough camping, had some skill in camp chores, and had proved more than once that he was capable of staying alert through a watch shift.

While Lothar was musing on this, Khadgar had been busy drawing the runes of the spell, and only the flash of light as it was called to the mage’s hand shook him out of it. He stepped into the circle without being told, and shut his eyes. No matter how many times Medivh had done it, no matter how often Khadgar did it, Lothar would never get used to it. Of course, he still often expected to find himself in the lake, the sound of laughter ringing from the bank.

He blamed the swoop in his stomach on the teleportation – not the stab of pain that came with the thought that he would never hear that laughter again.

Khadgar’s spell landed them discreetly in one of the rooms of the suite the mage had been given. It was hard to tell them apart at first glance; all of them were full of books, notes, and small paraphernalia that all mages carried. The first time Lothar had entered the suite, he wondered if Khadgar carried anything at all that could be considered ‘personal’. Little souvenirs from places visited, something perhaps he’d had when he was a child. He could not identify anything on first, second or third glances.

The room they landed in proved to be the sitting room, judging by the lack of bed, and the presence of a couch and a couple of chairs. Lothar didn’t have time to recognize more, as Khadgar swayed a little and he instinctively reached out to steady him. The mage shivered as the last wisps of power dissipated. Lothar held him by the shoulders, trying to look into his eyes.

“Oi. Bookworm. Look at me.” Khadgar’s eyes rose, and blinked a few times. “Hell. You’re exhausted. C’mon. Sit.”

Perhaps it was a telling thing that Khadgar did not protest and collapsed into the chair Lothar steered him to. Without a thought for formality, he tracked a page and had dinner sent to Khadgar’s suite, and joined him for it.

Mostly to be certain that the mage actually ate.

As he watched the younger man pick at his plate, Lothar saw signs – so many more signs than he wanted to admit – of the strain, the pain, the horror the mage had been through. Signs that, up until the past couple of days, he had either not seen, seen past or ignored. And the more he saw, the more he saw himself in Khadgar’s exhaustion and strain.

Taria had been right – they were two of a kind, in an odd way. From the titles they didn’t fit to the lines on their faces that seemed to age them decades past what they were. As he carefully (and tenderly, but he wouldn’t dwell on this) coaxed Khadgar to bed, and watched as the mage fell asleep before he was even properly settled, he made a vow – to himself, to Khadgar and to Taria and the children. He would do better. He had failed with his own wife and son, his brother-in-law, and his brother-in-all-but-blood, but he would not fail his niece, his nephew, his sister and … his friend.


	3. Three

Karazhan was still just as creepy as it was the day before – though it seemed to have smartened itself up just a touch. The bookshelves were more lively, responding to Khadgar’s beckoning more quickly and quietly – and far more gently. When darkness fell, the lights flickered a little, but all of them lit. Of course, this had more than one repercussion.

They did not notice the darkness, as the arcane lighting had risen, flickering a little, as the overcast sky darkened – but not due to lateness.

It was the blast of deafening thunder that shook Karazhan to her foundations and below that caused both mage and warrior to look up from their task, and look at the nearest clear window.

The sky was dark, flashing with greenish lightning. The lightning reflected off the ground, which was far brighter than it should be.

Khadgar groaned, and ran a hand down his face. “Our luck just ran out.”

“Why?” Lothar looked out at the ground and gasped. The snow was thick on the ground, just as deep as it was in Stormwind – and it could not have been falling for long. Karazhan herself, being of an arcane nature, had not indicated the temperature outside had fallen sharply, only keeping her occupants warm and comfortable as was her way. “Oh. Fuck.”

“You can say that again,” Khadgar growled. “Lothar – this is not just… hang on.” The mage closed his eyes and for a long moment, was very still. Lothar alternated his gaze between mage and window, wondering what it was he was doing. When Khadgar opened his eyes, he smiled thinly, and without humor. “I can’t get us home in this.”

“What? Why not?” Lothar’s eyes widened in – not panic, but shock and dismay. Not panic. Never panic. Not him.

“If I try, I could put us in some very bad places. Like in a wall. This storm is born of magical disruption. This is the storm that was in Stormwind. It has either traveled or spread – and if the disruption is returning _here_ , then—”

“Then if you perform any kind of magic other than basic, it will backfire.” Lothar sighed. “I remember Me- Medivh saying such things when he did too much at once.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Understanding passed between them as they realized they were stuck in Karazhan for at least the night, with little hope of getting a message back to Stormwind that they were, at least for now, safe.

* * *

Since there was no need to stop to return to Stormwind, they worked late into the night. Khadgar was, if nothing else, a proficient mage – and shockingly to Lothar, a decent cook.

Karazhan still had some staples in her store- and cold-rooms, enough that between them, they were able to put together a tolerable dinner of stewed meat and vegetables, and flatbread. There was even fruit that was still fresh, and wine.

Lothar was a little apprehensive at first, until Khadgar, the practical man he was, reminded him that to all intents and purposes, bearing the title of Guardian if not necessarily the rights and privileges, he was entitled to Karazhan’s resources – not just the library, but all of them. They avoided the upper floors of course, not wishing to relive the horror of the battle with the demon who had once been a very noble and kind man. But, as Khadgar and Lothar both knew, there was plenty of comfortable space in the guest wing, or even the disused servants’ wing.

While dinner cooked, they explored the guest wing – and found that they would indeed be comfortable. Though a trifle dusty (which caused Lothar pain, knowing that Moroes would have had a fit to see it so), the rooms were all more than serviceable. There was only one problem.

“I’m not sure I want to stay by myself. I know it sounds childish,” Khadgar said quickly, “but the tower just isn’t right. Perhaps if I could think of it as my home, I would feel differently. But once it is quiet and I am on my own, I can hear things that just aren’t right.”

Lothar held up a hand. “If it makes you feel better, Llane and I were the same way. We never let on how it was, but we often found ourselves in the same room, even though the wing was otherwise empty. I was creeped out enough by the quiet of the bathing room, thank you.”

“What do you mean?” Khadgar looked horrified now.

“Water is supposed to make noise, is it not? Well here, it tries to be quiet – lest it bother the bather. Getting up in the middle of the night was absolutely out of the question.” Lothar patted Khadgar on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Llane and I found solutions to that too.”

It was perhaps, one of the most surreal experiences either had ever had. Dinner was full of forced conversation, just to be sure there was some sound apart from the touch of spoon to bowl or glass to table. Lothar’s solution to bathing was very simply – not to separate.

The guests’ bathing room was partitioned, and so, they could either bathe at the same time and talk loudly enough to get past the partitions, or they could do so separately as the other talked cheerfully from just the other side of a partition. Or from the same side, as there had been no body shyness from either Lothar or Llane, having camped together with or without Medivh in their youth.

Wanting to get through the ordeal quickly, they opted for the former. Oddly, the water made noise – for them both – as it ran through the plumbing, and as they bathed. Neither spoke of it, but both silently thanked whatever it was that had heard the complaint.

As they settled for the night, awkward to share what was a more than spacious bed, there were no voices, and night-noise was the hiss of the storm outside, and the call of what night birds were foolish enough to venture out in the snow.

* * *

With two days to the end of Winter’s Veil, and the turn of the year, they woke early to return to their task. The snow had not let up during the night, and the wind howled through the broken windows floors above, echoing down the stairs to reach them in the library. The little conversation they shared as they (now both) searched through books was often cut off by the sound, and both of them looked up, worried.

“Khadgar,” Lothar finally said, shutting a book on weather magic that was clearly for a younger student, if he was any judge of simple language and illustration. “Most of the top of the tower has been—”

“Destroyed. I know. Somehow, it’s staying warm down here, and the snow isn’t coming down the stairs.” Khadgar looked up from his book, and gave Lothar a look that said clearly that he knew, and it was on his mind, even as he searched though his own stack. “Karazhan is a law unto itself, or herself or whatever. I don’t know what magic it is that’s keeping us warm here, or whether the snow has piled up enough up there to block the staircase and insulate us. I am trying very hard to _not_ think about what might happen if that spell breaks or the snow shifts.” He paused, looked back down at the book he was in the middle of, and snapped it shut. “There has to be an answer. If the storm has spread…”

Lothar nodded in silence. If it had spread, it was not only _moving_ south. It may have originated in the sea just beyond Stormwind, but now… now it threatened much of the continent. Khadgar opened his mouth to speak, but a shriek of wind cut him off.

“I’m going to say it’s not snow piled over the staircase,” Lothar said as soon as the sound died to echoes. Khadgar nodded grimly, and reached for another book. Looking up, Lothar did the same. As he reached, he knocked the short stack he had amassed over, and a book fell from it to the floor, bounced, then fell open.

Khadgar looked up, clearly ready to tell the warrior off for carelessness with obviously priceless books, but he stopped, frowned and stood instead. He waved Lothar away as he leaned over the book, stopping him from picking it up. Instead, he stared at it, his eyes flashing and his lips moving as he read, and he picked it up, still reading. “This is it,” he breathed, just barely audible over another low howl from above them. “This is what I’ve been looking for.” He looked up at Lothar, his eyes brighter than Lothar had seen them in months. A smile spread across Khadgar’s face, and for just a moment, he looked young again.

Lothar looked up, frowning as he heard a faint laugh. The smile vanished from Khadgar’s face as he looked up, clearly also hearing it. He stared upward for several minutes, enraptured by something. Lothar reached out a hand, but drew it back, not wanting to break whatever it was Khadgar had seen or heard – he could hear nothing.

Khadgar’s lip trembled, and his eyes watered. He nodded, slowly. His breath caught, and after another moment, nodded again, and bowed his head before looking back at Lothar, cheeks wet. He looked back up, shook his head and finally spoke. “It’s not like that. Never was.” A look of surprise cleared his eyes and he reached up with one hand to clear his cheeks with his sleeve. “I don’t think I—”

Lothar was absolutely baffled by now, and lowered his hand, looking up in the direction Khadgar was – toward the stairs – but saw nothing. He didn’t dare speak.

“I can’t do that! I would be _executed_ before I—” Khadgar’s mouth snapped shut, his eyes widened and it was clearly fear that spread across his face now. “I don’t know, but if you think it is best, then I will. I know what they said, and I know how it was, but I think both are gone. If such is the case, then only Antonidas will have those answers.” Another pause, a nod. “I will. Though how I am to use your authority to—” He shook his head. “I seriously doubt there’s anything left of –” He tilted his head, and sighed. “All right. All right, I will. Do you wish me to – oh. Oh.” He turned to look at Lothar. “I didn’t realize.” He took in Lothar’s baffled expression, then laughed. “I will _not!_ Not even for you – I will do no such thing!” He looked back up. “No. I told you. It was never like that. I doubt it would be.” He bit his lip and worried it with his teeth, then nodded.

Lothar felt like he was intruding on something meant to be private. Then again, it was mostly private, if Khadgar was conversing with someone. He wondered if it was someone from Dalaran, or perhaps a mage that had been sent to Stormwind because of the storm. Though that didn’t explain some of what was being said. Khadgar had stopped speaking again, and once again looked upset. Or sad. Was that sadness? He was unafraid to cry, that was for certain. He envied that in the younger man. Perhaps if he could —

“Oi. Anduin.” Lothar’s head snapped up, startled. He turned to look at Khadgar, who had put the book on the table, returned to his chair and was very obviously, quietly, weeping. Not him then. He looked back up to where the young mage had been staring and his mouth dropped open.

Standing on the stairs was Medivh, in one of his less formal robes, looking altogether too relaxed. He leaned on the railing, looking down at the pair with a slight smile. “I’m sure you gathered I just gave Khadgar a bit of a talking to. Now it’s your turn. First of all – thank you. For not blaming him for anything that has happened. That has all been my fault. Your words to him I think were something that made him willing to live again.”

“What?” Lothar frowned, his brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “What does that mean?”

“When you found him in that library, searching for an answer that he would only find here, he was prepared to give up. I know he told you of the Guardian’s rites. His successor would never have had to worry; a few days’ time and you would have hunted for him – and found an empty shell.” He held up a hand as Lothar opened his mouth to speak, and rather than speaking, Lothar looked at Khadgar again. The younger mage had not moved. “He told you what I told him. We are lonely, the Guardians. Isolate and cut off, meant to only befriend our caretaker with any deep bond. I loved Moroes, as he did me, and the other Guardians he cared for. He protected me, tried to help me through what happened. And in return for his care, I allowed the influence of the Fel in, and he paid for it with his life. Now. When you and Khadgar came to finish me, there were things I heard from behind the wall of that demonic _thing_ using my body. I seem to recall you begged me not to kill my friend, my king – and I was too late, in the end. Do not blame my daughter.” Lothar’s head jerked back, and his eyes widened. He was about to ask ‘ _who?’_ , but Medivh continued before he could get the word out. “She did as Llane _asked_ _of her_. I will explain – but not now. Right now I am going to adress the other thing you said, as you taunted the demon toward you for Khadgar to finish. You said you have nothing left to live for.”

Lothar swallowed, then nodded. “I did. And I do, now—”

“You live for your sister, bless her. Her children and Llane’s. For Azeroth. But not for you. Anduin, listen to me. And if you’ve ever loved me as you did Llane, _hear me._ That young mage you listened to once needs you. He isn’t aware. I cannot make him aware. I have pointed things out, but that’s all I can do. He is more lonely than ever I was, Anduin. He left his home, followed his instincts. He gave up the only thing his life was ever to be – even though the Kirin Tor had to acknowledge that though he abdicated, he is the only one _capable_ of acting as the Guardian. Though he does so from Stormwind, and stifled as that makes him, the one thing he did there was earn his place. Which you told him, and for that, I cannot thank you enough. You see what pulling the Fel from me did to him. It leeches his youth. He will not grow old, as it were. He will look it. He will bear the scars of what my pride, my recklessness, and my cockiness have done. The Kirin Tor will make demands. But they will not teach him.” Medivh sighed, looked at Khadgar, then turned his attention back to Lothar. “The remainder of what he needs is here. But, the other thing he needs is in Stormwind. And that is you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“When he went to Stormwind, you were the first person he met with the authority to hear what he so desperately needed the right people to know. You could have killed him. Shipped him back to Dalaran. You let him speak to Llane. You brought him here. And then, when all else was falling apart around you, you listened to him to come back here. Now – you want to know what you have to live for?” Medivh nodded to Khadgar. “You two forged a bond. I needed you and Llane. He needs you now. He needs you more than I ever did.” Medivh paused, and watched Lothar. Lothar looked at Khadgar again, then looked back up, shaking his head. “I am quite serious. I’m telling you to tumble that boy, the way you used to me.”

“I will not!” Lothar snapped, looking outraged. “That’s not how that works!”

“Not now. But give it time. Give it time.” Medivh’s body had faded a little, and a ripple passed over him. “I cannot be here much longer. I may be able to do this again, but I cannot say for certain – I did promise to explain my daughter’s actions. Now – I have told Khadgar to take back proof that I have passed Guardianship to him. Go with him. They know the story, but you have the authority to back him, especially because right now, Dalaran is covered in snow, and is liable to crash to the ground by this point. Dalaran – which never has anything but perfect weather because of _magic_. I have given Khadgar what he needs to stop this storm. Support him. Any way you can. Any way he asks.” He looked up, closed his eyes, and sighed. “Anduin. One last thing. About Callan. I’m sorry. There is nothing I can do or say to express what I felt when my daughter told me what happened. I know what it is like to lose a child – though mine was lost to circumstance, and not death. I should have been there when you needed me the most. And I was not. I was too weak to do what needed to be done.”

“No – no, when we found you I realized what happened and—”

“Anduin. _I failed you._ What was worse, I failed _Llane._ I failed the world, Anduin. My world, as well as the whole of Azeroth. Do not become a Guardian, Anduin. Do not isolate yourself. Do not push others away and leave nothing but your duty. Get to know him. Really get to know him. I know you. At least, I did a long time ago. Let him in.”

Lothar’s mouth worked for a moment, and then he closed it, only able to nod, numbly. “I still… Have you seen them?”

Medivh shook his head, sadly. “I cannot pass a message. I am sorry. All I can do is try to ease the pain now. Let him in. Look after the others. For the sakes of the gods, for Cally, for Callan, for Llane – and for me, do not turn to stone and become a being of hatred and cynicism. Give my love to the others. I hope to see you again soon, Anduin.” He rippled again, and when Lothar blinked, he was gone.

“Medivh!” The cry echoed off the walls, the shelves and the stairs, but there was no answer. Lothar sat down – or rather, dropped into the chair he had vacated – and suddenly understood why Khadgar had wept. He dropped his own head into his arms and did the same.


	4. Four

Lothar did not know when or how he fell asleep, but he woke when Khadgar nudged his shoulder.

“Commander?”

Lothar raised a hand, brushing Khadgar’s away – but gently. “I’m awake. I’m sorry; didn’t mean to fall asleep like that. What can I do for you?” He sat up, wincing as his back emitted several wet cracks, and looked at Khadgar, rubbing his eyes.

Khadgar did not look better for having broken down after his talk with Medivh. If anything, he looked far more tired, and there was the addition of a haunted look behind his eyes. “It’s getting late, and I need to get started on this.”

That got Lothar’s attention. “Get started on what?” He sat up straighter, looking up at Khadgar properly, attentively.

“Medivh pointed me in the direction I needed. For more things than one – turns out I can not only stop the storms, but also put the lines right and start healing the valley with the addition of putting the tower back together.” Khadgar smiled slightly. “It isn’t going to be easy, and I can’t do it alone.”

“I’m no mage,” Lothar started, but Khadgar shook his head to stop him.

“You don’t need to be. You’d need to make sure I don’t kill myself before it’s done, is all.”

Lothar stared at him. He didn’t miss the phrasing, and it shook him. He narrowed his eyes, and looked a little closer. Khadgar’s eyes were tired – but determined. He had seen that look once before. His body was trembling very slightly – he could see it in the shaking hands. Exhaustion or nerves. He’d seen that before too. He pursed his lips, then shook his head.

“Not tonight.”

“But—”

“Not tonight, Khadgar. We can start early in the morning. Right now, you are exhausted – and we both saw what happened to Medivh. I need to know more about what I need to do. If I know you, you’ve not eaten either since I was asleep. We turn in early – and then we start early.” Lothar lifted a hand to stop the mage from protesting. “I still rank you.” He smiled. “You’re my mage councellor, are you not? Not technically the Guardian? There you are. I rank you. Food. Bath. Rest. We can talk about what you need from me. Got it?”

Khadgar shifted from one foot to the other, clearly debating his options. He could argue, which Lothar had a plan to stop. He could go along with the commands he was given – it wasn’t the first time he had followed Commander’s Orders. He could try to weasle his way into perhaps doing a little of both at the same time. Lothar remembered well the times he’d managed to do that. Or…

Lothar stood up, reached out, and put his hands on Khadgar’s shoulders, stopping whatever of the trains of thought was surely going through his head. “Bookworm,” he said, not quite sharply, but enough to draw Khadgar’s eyes up to look at him. “Food. Bath. Rest. Stop thinking. From what you say we are going to have a very long day tomorrow – let it stay there.”

Khadgar blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed his mouth. Sighed. His shoulders relaxed a little in Lothar’s grip. “All right.”

Lothar grinned. “Good.” He gently slapped him on the back, and used the momentum of the motion to guide him towards the kitchen.

They managed a variation on the stew they’d made last night. Khadgar found leavening, and so, to Lothar’s shock, they had warm bread to go with it, with enough to toast for breakfast the next morning.

“Didn’t know you could cook, Khadgar.” Lothar said around a bite of stew.

“Had to learn. I may have been fed in Dalaran, but once I set out on my own, I knew I had to find some way to fend for myself. I’m no stranger to camping, camp-cooking, or even simple cooking and baking.” Khadgar picked a bite from a slice of bread and dipped into his stew. “I can hunt, if I have to. Forage. Learned that when I learned to harvest herbs.”

Lothar made a surprised noise. “Did you learn on your own then?”

Khadgar shrugged. “Some. Some of it was taught to me – while the Guardian may be well cared for in Karazhan, there are times something is going to take them away from that without a way to return home for the night. So I was taught some basics. I learned a little more in my spare time.” He smiled wryly. “Everyone has hobbies. I said I’d taken an interest in cooking. Nothing fancy, but things like this, or simple roasts, camp-roasting, a bit of clay baking.”

Lothar shook his head. There really was more to this young man. And his tone was… Wait. Khadgar’s eyes were shining – not glowing, but there was life in them as he spoke. He honestly _did_ like cooking then. Well. That was new. “There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye,” he said, fondly.

Khadgar blushed, and applied himself to his meal.

Once they had tidied up, they retreated to the bathing room again. Khadgar, being a mage and not having to wait for hot water from the spring to come up through the plumbing, sank into his bath before Lothar had finished undressing. The sigh was one Lothar knew. It was the sigh of an exhausted man finding comfort. It was the sigh of a man in pain finding relief. He resisted the urge to look around his partition to check on the mage.

Once Lothar was also immersed in blessedly hot water, he called out. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in pain?”

There was a pause before Khadgar answered. “What would you have done about it? What _could_ you have done about it?”

Lothar frowned. Well, he had a point. “Moved our operations to a more comfortable setting? A padded chair at least, for you? Preferably a stuffed upholstered one?”

He got a laugh in return. “Perhaps, but there was something more pressing at hand than my comfort.

Lothar snorted. “You made yourself comfortable in Stormwind’s library – I should have recognized that. What can we do to be sure you rest comfortably tonight?”

He heard Khadgar shift, and the sound of him ducking his head. A moment later, it repeated. “I don’t know. I mean. The bath is helping. I just. I feel old and brittle and nothing like I should.”

Lothar ducked his head, washed his hair and rinsed it, then started washing as well. “Have you seen a healer?”

“I don’t want to disrupt them from real work.” Khadgar’s tone was slightly bitter. “They won’t have time for my tiny complaints.”

Lothar growled. “Does that mean you have gone to see one and were turned away or that you havne’t bothered to go?”

Khadgar went silent but for the slow drip of water, presumably from his hair. “I’ve been,” he said, shortly. “They told me that I was an old man, and that it happens to old men.”

Lothar went very still, washcloth against his forearm. His fingers tightened on it and he winced as he pulled it away. “We will go. You and I. And there are things that can be done – you were a healthy twenty-something a few months ago, and I will see you returned to that status.”

“Commander, with all due respect, I will never return to that status. The best you can hope for is a moderately functioning old man.”

“Did Medivh tell you that?”

“What? No!”

“Then why do you believe that?” Lothar shifted so he could finish washing. “You are _still_ twenty-something. I will not have you believe that you are an old man! Nor that you behave like one, or that you are broken!”

Silence. Lothar frowned, finished rinsing and pulled the drain plug. He grabbed a towel and slung it around his hips and carefully moved toward the partition. He stopped short, remembering that it was not Llane or Medivh on the other side of it, and his intrusion would likely not be acceptable. “Khadgar?” Nothing. “Hey – are you all right?”

He stepped around the partition, and found an empty tub, and a lack of mage. The only evidence that he had been there at all was the washcloth draped over the rim to dry.

Lothar ran a hand down his face. He hadn’t meant to upset the mage. Now said mage was missing. Or, as was probably more likely, had just gone to bed. He swore, and went to redress.

When Lothar reached the room they had used the night before, he found it dark. He found and lit a lamp by the door, and discovered that the room was, in fact, empty. He checked others, taking the lamp with him – all empty.

After checking the library, the kitchen, dining hall, and other areas on the lower floors, he was at a loss. Khadgar had said he couldn’t get home – so where was he? With a long-suffering sigh, he looked up at the central staircase. Wishing he had kept his mouth shut, he began to climb.

Vanishing like this was unlike the young man. Going silent, staying still, avoiding attention were all more likely when addressed sharply. Lothar paused, halfway up. How had he been treated all his life, if those were his reactions? He also tended to argue, when he had a solid point to make – where was that fire now? _That fire went out the moment you yelled at him. It may have been for his own good, but it was you. Especially if Medivh gave him ideas, judging from what he told you. Stupid._

Lothar shook his head and kept climbing. The sound of the wind was getting louder – though it was still muffled. Though he dreaded reaching the top, he let that wind growing louder keep him going. He did have to pause once more about three-quarters of the way up, and like he always did, looked down at the library floor. And like he always did, he regretted it at once. Another breath, and he looked upwards for the rest of the way.

At the top, the wind was loud, but it was not as loud as it had been earlier. There was something shimmering in the spaces where the walls and windows had been broken and shattered. The huge clay golem that had been in the font had been moved aside, and lay partially shattered beside the staircase to the upper loft.

There was snow scattered by the walls where they had been open to the air, and the font – empty, last he’d seen it, and seething with sickly green energy just before that – was once again brimming with the blue-white energies that danced and burbled like water. If it had not been for the destruction, he could have believed that this was an ordinary visit, just like old times.

But it was not – he knew Medivh would not come down the stairs to embrace him and ask him how long it had been. He knew Medivh would not chuckle at Lothar’s discomfort from climbing the staircase. That soft musical voice was forever silenced but for echoes and remnants.

Lothar shook his head, and looked around by the light coming from the font, bounced back by the snow that was scattered, and the storm outside. The scaffolding was still askew, where it had been. There was little else here – the little furnature that had been here had been either destroyed or shoved back by the battle held here. He did not wish to think on what had become of the half-destroyed loft space.

Movement caught his eye, and he quickly turned his head to focus on it.

It was Khadgar, sitting at the edge of the font, his legs crossed, and his expression peaceful and concentrated at once. He looked like he was meditating, though his lips moved as though he was incanting. Lothar frowned. Meditating he could chance interrupting. Incanting…

He sighed. He thought they’d agreed not to begin until morning. If Khadgar lost his focus because of his exhaustion, they could both be killed. This tower could fall. This half of the continent could…

Lothar pressed his fingertips to his eyes. He had to trust the kid. Again. Put all of his doubts aside and trust the young mage. He realized this was becoming a _thing_.

So he followed the few instructions Khadgar had given him earlier. He moved to settle beside him, and kept watch for signs the mage needed something. What he could do in that event, Lothar was lost on. There was nothing up here but destruction. He, unlike Moroes, could not take the stairs and be back up here within moments. He could not teleport downstairs for something Khadgar needed.

He shot a look at Khadgar, taking in the mage’s posture. Not quite rigid, but not relaxed either. His hands fiddled with a greenish stone – likely the same one he’d been toying with in the library what now seemed ages ago. Did that mean he was lost in thought, meditating or actively casting? He was right back where he started.

A shift in Khadgar’s breathing alerted him that something was wrong. He quickly realized that the mage was shivering. Biting back words similar to what had caused them both to be up here in the cold, Lothar stood up and went to search for something cloak or blanket-like.

Most of the furniture had only been shifted, if it had not been outright destroyed by the magics that had been flung around, or crushed by the golem blundering after one or the other of them. It didn’t take much to find the couch Medivh preferred to lounge across. And he had to wonder at the deep red robe, arranged just so – in case it was needed. The last time Lothar had seen Medivh in this, he was still smiling. And that stung. But now – Medivh would want practicality, not sentimental dithering. Lothar picked up the fringed red fabric and shook it a little. Not a single dust mote shook free – the robe was as clean as if Moroes had just brought it in from the lines and laid it out for Medivh.

As he moved back to Khadgar, Lothar carefully unpinned the fabric, effectively turning it back into the fringed blanket it had begun as. Without disturbing Khadgar’s hands, he draped it over the mage’s shoulders, carefully pinning it as a second cloak, in addition to the one the mage had already put on. A few heartbeats later, the mage relaxed, and Lothar breathed a sigh of relief.

Realizing that he, too, was likely to succumb to the cold, he returned to find a second pinned blanket-robe-thing. This one, green. It was laid out as the first one had been, draped across side and back of the lounge. It had not been there when he picked up the red one.

He stared at it for a long moment before sweeping it over his shoulders. “Thank you, Moroes,” he whispered. He swore he heard the old man chuckle a ‘You’re welcome, Lothar,’ as he returned to Khadgar’s side.

Lothar sighed as he sat back down, shifted his position so he could keep an eye on Khadgar and settled himself for a long wait.

As it turned out, he did not have to wait very long.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic has decided to go off with a mind of its own. There was supposed to just be THIS chapter.
> 
> But it looks like there will be more.  
> SINCE THE STORY ISN'T RESOLVED YET.  
> ... muses. Can't live with 'em, can't rip 'em outta your head and beat them.

The creaking was ominous enough to make Lothar look up. He thought perhaps it was some of the snow shifting – or melting, considering it was warming up now that _something_ had replaced walls and windows for insulation – or at least protection from the snow falling beyond them.

Something that sounded like stone grating on stone caused him to look around for the sound. And he found it, just to his left, as a chunk of the balcony from the loft above began to rise, held – no, cradled – in a mist of azure and violet. It rose from beside the scaffolding and settled back where it had originally fallen from. A moment or two passed as the mist held it in place, then dissipated. And the piece of the balcony remained. There were no cracks to tell where it had fallen, no chips loose. Nothing to indicate that it had been shaken loose by a blast of arcane magic.

The mist coalesced by a shattered window, and the shards rose to settle back in the frame, one by one, from the edge to the center of the damage, and with a flare of light, also looked as though nothing had crashed through it.

Lothar watched in wonder as pieces of the tower, with or without the mist’s aid, began fitting themselves back where they belonged. Even the bits that had been flung to the ground outside when Lothar had been thrown through the window by the golem rose from below and settled where they belonged.

He could not have said how long it took, but he could see what it was doing to the mage. Khadgar was visibly drooping like a wilting flower. The day itself had been exhausting for them both – the fact that Khadgar seemed to not want to care for himself at all made Lothar bristle.

As he watched, Khadgar’s face shifted from serene to pained as the last of the damage – chips and dust mostly – repaired itself. Before Khadgar could begin another task, he reached out and rested a hand on the mage’s shoulder.

“Stop, Khadgar. That’s enough. You need to rest.”

Khadgar did not acknowledge Lothar’s words. His face set in concentration again, this time with a pained grimace, and his eyes squeezed a little. Lothar knew that look. And he also, thanks to Medivh, knew how to deal with it.

He shook Khadgar’s shoulder, breaking the concentration before Khadgar could focus properly on whatever it was he was trying to do now. “Stop. I am not burying you too. Now stop.”

Khadgar let out a long breath, looked up at Lothar with a glare that would have made Medivh proud. Before he could open his mouth, however, the warrior cut him off. “About time. I don’t know what I said to upset you, but killing yourself isn’t going to make it better.”

Khadgar opened his mouth, sighed, and closed it. Wordlessly, he let Lothar help him up, lead him back down the stairs, and into the room they’d slept in the night before. Khadgar pulled off the red cloak, and stared at it for a moment. Recognition hit him, and his lip trembled for a moment before he pulled the pin, set it on the table beside the bed and spread the blanket on the bed. He stripped off his cloak and his outer robes, leaving him in his shirt and trousers. He took his time unlacing his boots – probably so he didn’t have to talk.

Unfortunately for him, Lothar had pulled off his boots and had done similar with the green blanket cloak he had been wearing, but, he had not put his outer leathers back on after his bath … and was waiting.

“What happened?” he asked, simply.

Khadgar looked at him for a moment, then pulled the bedcovers down so he could slide under them on his side. He took his time settling before finally answering, and Lothar guessed he was playing for time to either get out of it – or to make himself coherent.

“I’m not the Guardian. I’m not even the Guardian Novitiate. I’m a runaway, renegade mage--”

“Who earned himself a permanent place in Stormwind because of his heroic actions. Just because you did not follow protocol and procedure and stomped on toes in Dalaran does not mean you did not do the right thing. Forgive me, but that says you are a better Guardian than anything they could train.”

Khadgar blew out a sigh. “But I will also never amount to anything in their eyes. I will only ever be a runaway renegade hedge-wizard even though I was trained by the Kirin Tor, and for Guardianship.”

“Who cares?” Lothar shot back. “Look. I’ve already told you that you earned your place in Stormwind.” Another thought occurred to him and he finally lay down, shifting to face Khadgar. “Look – what did Medivh say to you that upset you so badly? I know this has to do with that – it has to. You were not like this before you… you…” Lothar narrowed his eyes, and Khadgar shifted to look away. “Are you still in pain?”

Khadgar was quiet for a long moment. “It’s not bad,” he finally said. Lothar gave him a Look. “It’s not. Really.”

“Where is it? What is it?” Lothar paused, sighed and shook his head a little, stretching out. “Talk to me, Bookworm.”

“Just – just the complaints of an old man.” Khadgar turned his head, burying his face in his pillow.

“We had this conversation, Khadgar,” Lothar sighed, his voice quiet and almost _soft_ , for him. “You are not an old man.”

“I might as well be. Look at me. In just a few months, my hair has gone grey, my eyes are washed out, my body is dying faster than I know how to deal with. It doesn’t matter whether I’m the Guardian or not, the Novitiate or not, and now it really doesn’t matter whether or not my vows were reinstated or remained renounced. No one would want me in a matter of weeks. Wouldn’t matter if I was a mage or a farmer.” Khadgar turned over, and Lothar assumed that meant the mage thought the conversation over.

“Not everyone is as shallow as that, Khadgar. I certainly am not.” Lothar surprised himself with the words, let alone how he thought Khadgar must have felt, if the mage was even listening. If nothing else, Khadgar had frozen, meaning he must have heard. “I told you days ago that you don’t have to be lonely. There are people who care for you. Let us help. Let us in.” He paused, sighed, and closed his eyes. It pained him, but Medivh was right. And he _hated_ it when Medivh was right. “Let _me_ in. Talk to me, damn it.”

Khadgar made a soft noise that sounded like an astonished and thoughtful hum. He shifted, turning to look at Lothar. “Let me sleep on it, Commander. Perhaps I will be in a better state to talk in the morning.”

It was more than fair, and Lothar said as much. Khadgar raised a hand from the blankets and gestured. The lights went out.

* * *

Lothar awoke to the unfamiliar sound of whimpering. He turned over, ready to tell the mage to shut it, when he saw that the mage was still asleep.

Khadgar’s eyes were closed, his eyelids shifting, his eyelashes fluttering. His face was scrunched in an expression of pain. He shifted restlessly as though trying to find a position that was not painful.

Lothar pressed his lips together, watching only long enough to be certain of what he was seeing. He hauled himself out of bed and looked up. “I uh,” he started, softly enough to not wake Khadgar, “if you’re listening, I don’t know how to tell one potion from another. I ah. I just drink what the healers tell me to, apply what they tell me to, and get impatient when I can’t leave to go back to work immediately.”

Nothing happened. Lothar sighed, realizing it was a bit too much to hope for. He turned back to the bed and shifted some of the blankets, and the red and green cloaks, so that Khadgar would hopefully be warmer.

The fact that Khadgar had not been awakened even by his pain told Lothar that he was far more exhausted than he seemed yesterday. As he tucked the bedding around the mage, he could feel the tremors. As he brushed back the silvered hair from his face, he could fel those tremors lessen. Lothar drew his hand back and watched as the warmth caused Khadgar to finally still – for the moment.

Without thinking about what he was actually doing, the King-Regent of Stormwind went off to the kitchen. His intention was to bring breakfast to the mage. If he could keep the mage abed, he could hopefully talk sense into him. If he could keep the mage still, he could hopefully find solutions to the obvious pain. If he could keep the mage in one place, he could hopefully get said mage to _talk_.

* * *

When Lothar returned, laden with toast, more of last night’s stew, boiled eggs, and bacon, Khadgar was still sleeping – but it seemed he was far less uncomfortable than he had been. He was still, his breathing even and deep, and his face no longer looked pained, his eyes were no longer in constant motion.

It was then Lothar decided that they would take the morning to rest. They knew what needed to be done – or rather, Khadgar did – so there was time. They could do whatever needed to be done, the storm would blow itself out, they could return to Stormwind and celebrate the turning of the year with the others.

Lothar set the tray he’d brought breakfast in on down on the table beside the bed and took a closer look at the boy-turned-old-man. He had been twenty-something. He looked… older than Lothar himself looked now. Older almost, than Moroes. His hair was silvery-white, his skin pale. The only thing that gave away his actual age was the fullness of his face. The mage was never out of shape – for a mage – but he still had a layer of baby-fat to protect him. Lothar suspected that mages kept that for a while; Medivh had. It insulated their energies or something, Medivh had explained.

Reluctantly, Lothar reached out and gently shook Khadgar’s shoulder. It brought back painful memories of another time he had awakened the mage from unconsciousness. “Khadgar. Khadgar. C’mon. Wake up. I brought in breakfast.”

That got a response. Khadgar shifted, made a soft noise, and began to sit up. He stopped when he realized the bedding on him and around him was more than when he fell asleep. “Commander?” he mumbled sleepily, “wha’s this?”

Lothar pulled a chair to the side of the bed so he could reach the tray. He poured a cup of tea and added honey and cream to it as Khadgar got himself sitting up. He passed the cup to the mage who nodded his (slightly confused) thanks. “When I woke up, you were in considerable pain, Khadgar.” His tone was light, but it was obvious from the look he gave Khadgar as he passed over a bowl of stew that the mage was not going to get out of talking again. “It seems warmth was what you needed. I would have found you something for the pain, but I am no alchemist, and with my luck would have blown something up trying to follow a book. I also know nothing of what Moroes has prepared, where it would be kept, or what would have been appropriate to give you.”

Khadgar set his mug of tea down and lowered the bowl of stew to his lap. The way his hands shook told Lothar that he was either still in pain or that he had struck a nerve. “Commander, with all due respect, I am fine.”

Lothar glared at him. “If only I had a way to show you that you were absolutely _not_ fine when I left here. You asked me to let you sleep on the idea of talking to me.” He poured a second mug of tea and added honey and cream to it, then cradled it in his hands. “So. Are you going to talk to me or not?”

Khadgar sighed, lowered his eyes and nodded. “I think it might be for the best.”

“Good. You overexerted last night in a fit of pique, so let’s not have that again, shall we? Let’s start with the basics – what hurts?”

Khadgar shifted, then shifted again, as though testing parts of himself. “My back. Much of the time it’s just an annoyance, but when it flares up, in cold or when I’ve done too much, it’s like knives dragging down it. Just deep enough to hurt, but not deep enough to wound, if that makes sense?” At Lothar’s nod, he continued. “Under similar conditions, my joints freeze up.” He extended his hand, and it was obvious he had some trouble getting his elbow to cooperate. He flexed his fingers, and it was just as obvious that some of them did not move as smoothly.

Lothar frowned. “So as you said, complaints of the elderly. But you are _not_ an old man.” He sighed. “So what can we do about it?”

Khadgar pulled his hand back and started on his stew. “There are medicines I can take to reduce most of it, if not all of it, for a time.” He ate in silence for a moment, then looked back up at Lothar. “You mentioned comfortable seating. That does help. Warm atmosphere helps as well. Not all always ideal, but, if possible. It’s why I like Stormwind’s library so much. It’s warm, there is comfortable seating, and full of books – many of which I have not read, because they’re fictional.”

Lothar smiled. He couldn’t help himself. Khadgar really was young at times, but there were so many times he took things on his shoulders and added burdens that were not his to bear. But for that moment, he had admitted he was young, just with his words, and it warmed Lothar’s heart to a point where he was almost – almost – startled by it.

“And here?”

Khadgar looked up mid-bite, and chewed thoughtfully and swallowed before answering. “This room, or Karazhan?”

“Karazhan.”

For another moment, his youth glowed. His muddy-grey-brown eyes sparkled. “I could get absolutely lost here. Nonfiction, fiction, experiment reports, theories on not just magic, tactical texts, oh I could die happy here.”

Lothar felt his heart ache. He remembered Medivh’s words when he walked into this tower, recounted many times in amusement by Moroes. At first he was startled, and then he realized just what he had been given, in the tower, its resources, and in Moroes himself. And he ran himself to, and into, the ground trying to devour it all. His eyes closed. It hurt. It hurt to hear those words from Khadgar. It hurt because he knew that Khadgar _could_ die happy here. But as happy as he was right now, he would be miserable here alone, especially now that all the staff had been sent away, and Moroes was gone.

“Commander?” Lothar looked up. Khadgar was looking at him with a strange expression. “Did I say something upsetting?”

Lothar took a drink of his tea to get the knot out of his throat. “Medivh said similar. Something about dying and being in the Light’s Embrace, right here. But then I saw what happened to him over the years.” He eyed Khadgar for a long moment. “I don’t want to see you do the same.”

Khadgar blinked. “You mean – the way Guardians are let loose here, and they exhaust themselves trying to do everything.”

Lothar blinked right back. “Y-yes? I suppose.”

Khadgar smiled, sadly. “We are sat on, in Dalaran, as much as we are taught. When I escaped, I escaped with more than they thought. I had been thought their libraries. Late at night when I couldn’t sleep, I was deep in texts ages over my head. I learned easily as breathing and shocked my instructors more than once. The knowledge here would take more than just one lifetime to take in – and an entire lifetime to _add_ to. I think that’s what we’re meant to do, in our ‘free’ time. Add to it. I’m sure Medivh left many journals to be copied into proper texts – though the scribes meant to do that are now gone. I know I cannot hope to read all this. Just what we’ve done we’ve only been through a couple of shelves and most of that was all on the same subject, and some of it was only archival and things I have already read and mastered.”

Lothar lowered his eyes, sighing in both relief and exasperation. Mages were alike, it seemed, no matter who they were. “I am glad to hear you say that.”

Khadgar reached for his tea. “Speaking of, however, we do need to get--”

“No. No, we are going to rest. All of the morning. Your only task is going to be telling me how to make you feel better. You will rest. I can bring you books if you like, but your only exercise this morning will be to get to and from the privy. Understand?”

They stared at each other, a battle of wills. Ice blue bored into grey-brown, and grey-brown met it and deflected it. After a long moment, Khadgar looked away. “Understood, Commander.”

“Anduin.”

“What?”

Lothar reached out and tilted Khadgar’s head up. “Anduin. You have more than earned the right to call me by name when we’re not on a battlefield.”

Khadgar blinked. Blushed. Stammered something Lothar didn’t catch, and they both returned to their meal in silence.


	6. Six

Khadgar did not like being confined to bed. Lothar let him move to a chair, but kept him well covered with blankets. He finally had to let the mage up, however, when he stared at a cabinet in an alchemy storage room halfway up the tower filled with corked bottles that were labeled in herbal combinations and not something sensible.

“They are labeled in a sensible manner,” Khadgar argued, nudging some of the front-most bottles aside. “The herbal combinations will tell what they’re used for. Like this,” he held out a bottle labeled ‘Wild Stlblm-Lfrt-Gld Sans’. “This is a stimulant, one used for rapid healing. Mostly internal injuries.” He held up another, labeled ‘Pcblm-Lfrt-Mtn S-Sage’ and smiled. “Calmative, meant for sedation.” And another, which he sighed with relief when he found. Before he explained it, he downed the bottle and made a face. “Eugh. Liferoot and kingsblood, with a bit of sungrass and mountain silversage. Powerful. Pain killer. Give me about five minutes to let that work, and I’ll be good as new.”

“How do we make sure you have a supply?” Lothar asked, looking through the cabinet again to find more of the same.

“I won’t need anything this potent day to day. Perhaps just a peacebloom tea infused with kingsblood and maybe either sungrass or the silversage. Perhaps just a bit of dreamfoil, if the pain is only mild.” Khadgar smiled at Lothar’s discomforted confusion. “I can teach you,” he offered, “the simple stuff, anyway. Some of it even a child can do if they know to be careful with hot water.”

Lothar raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Khadgar grinned. “Really. In fact, we can start now. I will need some restoratives once I’ve finished… what I need to do. If I live.”

“Khadgar—”

“I mean it, Anduin.” That brought Lothar up short and wiped the grin off Khadgar’s face. “What I need to do is not something any mage goes into lightly, and very very rarely do they try alone. It is usually done with a team – but I seriously doubt there will be a team willing to work with me at this point in time – because of the amount of power I will have to handle. It could burn me out without my finishing what I set out to do – which is why it’s your job to make sure I’m alive until I’m through.”

“What about after?”

Khadgar sighed, and moved to the cabinet beside the one they were looking through. He began pulling bundles of herbs from hooks, one at a time, and gently drawing out a few leaves, stems, flowers, petals or other parts from them. “If I survive it, then I will need some care. In a situation like this, it would have been Moroes doing so for the current Guardian, but as Moroes is … is now gone, I have to ask you to perform his tasks in this – and you are not a trained alchemist. So I will ask for your help for the more complicated ones, and teach you the simpler ones. Luckily, most of what I need can be prepared ahead of time, and some of them Moroes already has stocked.”

Lothar frowned. “Why? Why would he have them stocked if you don’t often—”

“That’s just the thing, Anduin. Now do you understand what I meant when I said Medivh was well on his way to burning out?” Lothar shook his head. Khadgar set down his selection of herbs and went back to the cabinet Lothar still stood in front of. He pulled several bottles forward, showing that some of them were the same. ‘Kgbld-sgrss-icecap’ was on at least three, and some of the others were labeled similarly with ‘gldthrn-sgrss-bldwd-drmfl’ – but he also pulled forward ones with only one or two of the herbs present, such as ‘pcblm-tea/kgbld’ or ‘kgbld-bldwd’ or ‘pcblm-tea/gdlthrn’ or ‘drmfl-tea/gldthrn’. “These are normal magic restoratives – these,” he pointed to the ones with more names, “are highly unstable and dangerous when ingested. If Medivh was taking these often enough for Moroes to stock them, he was already dying.”

Lothar winced at Khadgar’s tone but could see why the mage was concerned. “And you?”

Khadgar looked at the bottles, pulled down two of the more ‘dangerous’ ones and set them on the table beside his bundle of herbs. “These two might be necessary.” He looked at Lothar, his mouth a grim line. “I pray they are not, because if they are, I could become addicted to them.” He picked up his bundle again. “But here – the stuff I’m going to be brewing won’t be so dangerous, and will be more along the lines of what I need.”

* * *

An hour later, Lothar had learned to brew – to Khadgar’s satisfaction – peacebloom tea with added infusions, how to combine some of what was made into new draughts, and could understand easily and identify what Khadgar needed based off instruction. It was a long hour, but an hour well spent. They had a small collection of bottles ready for nearly any mishap, a neatly scribed list of instructions should Khadgar fall unconscious, and Lothar had memorized enough of the labels to know what meant what, if Khadgar struggled to speak.

“I’m not saying all this will be necessary. But,” Khadgar gestured.

“But best be prepared for anything, if one has the time,” Lothar finished, nodding. “All right, Bookworm, what’s next?”

Khadgar frowned. “Well, I think that’s all I can really think of to do in advance. I’ll be working upstairs – so we’ll have to move this, and… oh.”

“Oh?” Lothar didn’t like the sound of that. Khadgar’s tone was disappointed, surprised and apprehensive all at once.

“There is a reason that the Guardian tends to sleep… up there.”

“And that is?” Lothar frowned – Medivh had never mentioned, that he’d paid attention to, anyway, a reason to _live_ all the way at the damned _top_ of the tower.

“Great works exhaust mages.” Khadgar’s voice was flat. “And I’m going to be exhausted. You’re not carrying me all the way back down.”

Lothar bit his lip to keep from laughing. The mage had a very good point. “All right, then we make you up a place to rest – how long will you be there?”

Khadgar frowned, looked over the gathered bottles, and then looked up. “No more than a day? If we get started early enough, I can be done before nightfall. Then we can be back in Stormwind before the year’s end.”

“Before nightfall?” Lothar shook his head. “How long is this likely to take then?”

Khadgar shrugged, then scooped up an armful of bottles. “No idea,” he said cheerfully, sounding terrifyingly like Medivh. “Could be a few minutes, could be hours.” He shrugged a shoulder, managing not to drop any of the bottles in his arms. “C’mon. Let’s get going.”

Lothar gathered up the rest of the bottles and followed, shocked at just how different Khadgar seemed now. He was far more like the young mage who had dropped in out of nowhere, snuck into the barracks and inspected his dead without a single person catching him until he went _looking_ for someone with authority. He did not walk like an old man – nor did he move like one. Whatever he had pulled from that cabinet turned him back into the twenty-something-year-old mage that had turned his life upside down. Well, in all but appearance. He was still silver-haired and muddy-brown-grey-eyed, pale and a little withered. And he had mentioned Moroes had something for the Fel-withering, whatever that was, but had not been sure what it could do.

By the time they reached the top of the tower, Lothar had far more hope that this would go well, rather than badly.

They pulled Medivh’s favorite lounging couch nearer the font – where it had lived before. It wasn’t much work to turn it back into a suitable place for a nap, and draped with the red and green blankets – and a new, blue one had appeared, ready to be worn. Khadgar smiled, brushed a hand over it reverently, and thanked not only Moroes, but Medivh _and_ the tower itself. (Lothar deemed it wise to not mention that Khadgar had been moved to tears by the gesture.) The tower was far warmer now that the repairs were made, and while Lothar didn’t approve of how those repairs got done, he couldn’t complain that they had been done before – trying to do that plus whatever Khadgar planned on doing now would be hell in the cold.

They could not put it off any longer, or at least Khadgar said as much. They had brought up the medicines for Khadgar’s recovery. They brought up food and drink so Lothar would not need to leave Khadgar for a long period of time to get either. They had a suitable place to rest. For Khadgar to nap, and for Lothar to doze if he felt inclined. Lothar had selected a few novels from Medivh’s personal favorites to read.

There was no other preparation they could perform that would allow them to procrastinate further.

Khadgar took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and went to the bottles, picked one of them up, and downed it. Lothar knew it was a pain killer that would keep Khadgar relatively comfortable until his task was complete.

Lothar knew the basics of what he was doing; Khadgar had explained, in terms Lothar would understand. He also had explained what to look for, as far as danger signs that would require intervention and treatment. He knew enough about magic to know that he did not envy the mage in the slightest.

As he watched Khadgar step into the font, he remembered the last occasion Khadgar had done so. He remembered the fear when he realized what the younger mage intended to do – and remembered the panic when Khadgar took the steps to stop him from intervening.

At that time, Khadgar reached out to pull the Fel, and its corruption, its _infection_ from Medivh’s body. Pulled it into himself – which was so incredibly dangerous, considering what happened to Medivh. And all Lothar could do was speak encouragement. And then, when it was over, demanded Khadgar prove he was not a danger.

“ _Show me your eyes.” A soft command, but a command. The head lifted, and the eyes that met his were still a soft, warm brown. Tired, shocked at what he had accomplished, but with no lingering corruption, no sickly green glow. Lothar paused, and realized that no one would acknowledge this – not a mage who had once been Guardian Novitiate turned renegade. He reached out, resting a hand on the mage’s shoulder, and leaned to meet those eyes. “I’m proud of you.” He would have said more, had the cry of his favored gryphon not told him he was needed. Would have said far more – because he knew Khadgar needed to hear it. But there wasn’t time. He ruffled the younger man’s hair, told him he needed to go, and did. His king, his friend, needed him._

Khadgar shifted until he stood in a stable stance, and shook himself out, his eyes closed. Lothar’s lips twitched into a slight smile. The action was so similar to a fighter before combat – be it a war or a tournament or even an exhibition. It was like a performer about to step onto a stage. He had been guilty of it himself, shaking off nerves.

Khadgar may as well have been a performer, Lothar realized. Khadgar’s hands moved as though to scoop up the energies in the font, and his hands, Lothar realized, were not empty. One of them had that same green stone, and it was rolled gently through the fingers. A focus-stone, then. Medivh mentioned some mages used them to remain grounded when performing greater rituals.

The ‘empty’ hand lifted. The mage’s lips moved. Like a dancer starting a performance, Khadgar’s eyes snapped open, glowing the familiar blue. Tendrils lifted from font to hand to hand as both hands rose, and the stone was captured between them, the tendrils moving into it.

Lothar had seen Medivh cast – but it had never been like this. The tendrils that rose from the font spiraled around Khadgar’s legs, his torso, his arms, shifting and coiling as fingers danced – and the stone began to glow as well. The half of Lothar that was not fascinated by the beauty of it nodded satisfaction. So far, so good. There were no signs of trouble. He turned to settle in a chair to wait out the rest of it.

And things went to hell rather quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You probably hate me for cliffhanging.  
> Fear not.  
> They're almost there.


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a bit late! My day was awful and I did not get the chance to post.  
> There will be just one more update!

The first sign of trouble was the sound of the storm outside. Lothar looked up at the domed ceiling – to see that lightning was flashing near-constantly. He flinched as a bolt struck the tower – but he noticed that Khadgar did not. The mage was unmoving, locked into whatever he was doing.

Khadgar was just as serene as though the storm outside was not turning in a raging thing, apparently attacking the tower. Instead, the stone between his hands was brighter, and a beam extended from it to the dome of glass above. Another bolt struck, shattering part of the glass – which just froze in midair, then lifted back to where it belonged as though it was never struck.

The blue-white flowed like water along the inside of the dome, down the walls, into the floor, and down the stairs. From what Lothar could tell, it seemed to be ‘coating’ the inside of the tower.

What Lothar could not see, however, was the way it flowed into the lines below – which is where Khadgar’s concentration actually was. Not that he would have been able to see anything, considering he did not have the ability to see the flows of power the way a mage would.

No, what Lothar could see was that the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and the trickle down the stairs were all glowing. When he looked back at Khadgar, the mage was glowing also – but not in the blue-white of the energies around him. No, he was as blue as his eyes, the arcane shifting around him in a similar fashion to the bubble he had once thrown around Lothar himself.

The warrior shuddered at the memory. As he did, the same thing happened again. With a choked and startled “Wha—?” he saw that Khadgar was looking at him – and his expression was at once resigned and apologetic.

Even though he knew it would do no good, Lothar raised his hands to the surface of the barrier, staring at Khadgar with a look of shock. What was the stupid mage _doing_?

The storm’s wind howled, drowning out anything he might have tried to call. The lighting strikes were swifter, causing further repairs to occur. The temperature began to fall, enough that Lothar shivered. And still, Khadgar remained focused.

There was a hollow quality about the mage now – almost as though his very substance was draining away. Lothar had seen that only once; the memory of how Moroes had looked, lying near the font when they had confronted Medivh – or what was left of him. But the power that was now … now _lifting_ Khadgar above the font was still the pure blue-white, not a trace of sickly green.

Lothar tried to stand, seeing all of this as a danger-sign he was meant to watch for. When he could not, he realized that Khadgar had never meant him to _do_ anything about it. He had just told the warrior enough to know that this was probably going to be fatal.

All the preparations, all the procrastinations – they were all excuses to spend just a few more moments with someone who seemed to actually care about him – and Lothar did. And, as was typical for him, he realized he understood Medivh’s words too late. How was he to support Khadgar when the kid wouldn’t let him? His eyes closed. He didn’t think Lothar would actually _be_ there. That must be it. Lothar shook his head.

Trying again to get to his feet, Lothar missed the shift in the flow of power. He also missed the sound of the storm outside. He did not miss the rapid succession of lightning strikes against the tower, shattering glass (which once again just returned to its place), and shaking the tower to its foundations.

He gave up, staring at Khadgar – who was almost indistinguishable from the power around him. The mage was as pale as snow, his eyes the only pinpricks of color to say he was there. Lothar realized that the mage was also … less. His cheeks were hollowed, the robes he wore hung off him badly, and his hands were spindly as they continued to move. The stone between his hands was now a globe of blue-white, shimmering in the bright azure that he assumed was unique to Khadgar. The shimmering condensed into streaks, like …

Cracks.

Lothar tensed, holding his breath, waiting for the stone to shatter, for the explosion that would follow, similar to the last time they had been here, and for Khadgar’s body to follow.

Not this time.

“Khadgar! If you die, I will _never_ forgive you! You better damn well come out of this alive, Spell-chucker, or I will find some way to haul you back! Do you hear me, Bookworm?” Lothar had no idea if Khadgar could hear him, but he felt his throat nearly split from his shouting, his voice cracking with emotion. “I told you, damn it, that you don’t have to be alone or lonely! People _love_ you, damn it all. If you give up here…” Lothar slumped back in his chair, his eyes still on the mage.

Khadgar’s eyes shifted, and found Lothar’s.

“If you give up here, Khadgar, then take me down with you.”

Khadgar jolted. Shook his head. Seemed to try to say something. And he looked upwards, then back down at Lothar. There was another shift, and the stone between his hands shattered – but rather than the explosion Lothar had expected, the energies simply shot straight up, and through the glass above them.

The tower shook again, but this time it was as though someone who had been slumped over straightened up, snapping to attention. There was a howling from outside as the wind picked up. And then there was a ringing – possibly in his own ears, Lothar realized – as Khadgar lowered back into the font.   
  
Khadgar stopped glowing. The glow around him followed where he had been channeling upwards, and flowed down the walls, down the stairs. The mage looked at Lothar as his eyes returned to their grey-brown, and nodded, once. He collapsed, somehow gracefully, first to his knees, then to the side.

Lothar realized the barrier around him was gone. And the storm had gone silent. As he stood up, the scraping of the chair’s legs was startlingly loud after the storm’s swan song. He took a step toward the font, then another. He wasn’t sure what would happen to him, not being a mage, if he stepped into it, but he couldn’t just leave Khadgar where he was. As he stepped in, he felt a tingling along his skin that quickly became a burn.

How did Medivh _bathe_ in this stuff? Maybe it felt different to mages. As he picked Khadgar up, the shifting energy within the font rose at the edges, as though to prevent him from leaving. Lothar frowned. Feeling absurd, he spoke. “I’m not taking him out – he has medicines he has to take – and he can’t do that without my help.” The energy shifted again, though he could feel it ‘watching’ him. He ignored the chill that sent down his spine as he brought Khadgar to the edge, and set him down.

He turned to step out, and the power shifted again, twining around his wrist. “The edge of the pool is sharp. His head doesn’t need injury on top of this. Let me make him comfortable!” Again, the power withdrew. Lothar wondered if Moroes went through this. Then again, Moroes was a mage. Perhaps not.

Lothar gathered a pillow and set it at the edge of the pool, carefully rearranged Khadgar to lie mostly in the pool with his head, shoulders and back supported at the edge. He turned to gather the draughts they had prepared, and it seemed the font was satisfied.

One by one, and carefully, oh so carefully, Lothar helped Khadgar drink each one. With each one, Khadgar regained a little more of himself. He finally showed a sign of life as Lothar uncorked another bottle by lifting his hand, then shook his head. “Dreamfoil,” he said, weakly. “Tea with dreamfoil.”

The relief Lothar felt nearly turned him boneless, but he went to prepare the tea anyway. He didn’t notice that the dome above lit up as the sun emerged from the cloudy sky, the light chasing the last of the gloom from the tower.

* * *

Khadgar slept most of the afternoon. It was nearly nightfall when the font finally allowed Lothar to take the mage from it and settle him nearby (with a lot of ‘We’re not leaving the room, but he’s not going to be comfortable here’ and ‘I’m just moving him there, still within reach’ and ‘I’m not leaving him, just getting him food’ and once, ‘for Light’s sake can I just go and _pee?_ ’), and at least one of the moons was visible through the dome above before Khadgar sat up and was ready to do anything other than lay there.

He had suffered for whatever he had done. His cheeks were still hollow and he looked drained. Lothar tried very hard not to think that he looked… ancient. He remembered that Archmage Antonidas looked like this – only with far more health and color to him. But, Lothar took it as a good sign that he was hungry, thirsty, and able to handle bowl and mug with ease. His strength only seemed sapped – it was not entirely gone.

Once fed, Khadgar nearly fell asleep into his mug of tea. Lothar managed to keep him awake at least long enough to put the tea down and visit the privy (‘Are you kidding me? I know good and well that no such facilities exist up here, and no, neither of us thought of that when we moved supplies up here. We’ll be right back, I swear!’) before falling back to sleep.

Lothar sat on the edge of the couch, one hand stroking Khadgar’s hair as he fell asleep. There was something he wanted to say, but now was not the time for it. But this time, he vowed he would not ignore the gift offered him. He could see past the grateful looks Khadgar gave him. There was something more. Something they desperately needed to talk about – but not now.

“Cutting it a bit fine, Anduin.” Lothar looked up, finding Medivh sitting on the chair next to the couch. “But at least you got there. Still a touch overdramatic, insisting that if he intended to suicide to kill you as well, but I think he got the point. I rubbed off on the both of you. And he didn’t know me very long. Ah, the poor thing. Dealing with more than ever I did, and so much younger. He hides his fear. Just like I did. Buries his feelings.”

“Just like you did,” Lothar answered softly. “Influence of the Kirin Tor I think.”

“Yes. Well. Hopefully now that the storm is gone, they can sort things out. I’m certainly not going to help them. Not when I intend to stay here for now.” Lothar looked shocked, one eyebrow rising. “Yes – it appears I have that choice. You’ve seen my work and Moroes’ since you’ve been here. I know he won’t come to live here – especially not now. But he will need to spend some time here. I cannot help him directly, but with time, the three of us can – you, Moroes and I.”

“How?”

“Well, you’ve laid a foundation. Emotionally, he is healing. Mentally, he will take longer to heal after what the Kirin Tor have instilled. As far as his education, I leave that to myself and Moroes. Situationally, we can give him what he needs when and as he needs it. I will not have him overwhelmed as I was. Give him free reign here without a caretaker and he’ll…” Medivh gestured. “He’s half dead Anduin. If you had not been here, if you had not stopped him…” He stood up and knelt by Khadgar’s head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I distrusted you. I’m sorry I treated you as I did. You, who turned out to be the better mage, the better man, and the better _soul_. I have no right to ask your forgiveness, Khadgar.”

Lothar looked down, and realized Khadgar was awake. He wondered how much the younger mage had heard. “All right?” he asked, reaching to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Khadgar’s ear. He got a nod in return.

Khadgar turned to Medivh and offered a wan smile. “You have the right, Guardian. You studied it – just as I had. You experimented – which I did not have the chance to. Had I, it would have been different. The Kirin Tor expect us to protect Azeroth, but they keep the knowledge and the tools just out of our reach. When I realized that, I had… words. When I returned and demanded answers, I shook the Council, I think. They were ready to kill me where I stood until I … _asked_.”

“And of course, they were shaken. The Guardian has been a figurehead for them to use to death for research for too long. You broke that cycle. The fact that they were prepared to reinstate your status I think said much. But I think – I think, they didn’t realize that your eyes were opened wider than they wanted. Either way – it has passed to you whether they like it or not.”

“I don’t want —”

“I know, Khadgar. I know. But you are the only one capable right now. And will be for many years. But – without the shackles of control, you can do it the right way. From Stormwind. With friends. Surrounded by love.” Khadgar bit his lip and looked away.

“Now. While I have the both of you – about my daughter’s actions.” Lothar looked up. Khadgar lifted his eyes, looking more alert. “Anduin – I know you think she betrayed Llane. She did not. He said that she could find a way to bridge what Durotan and the other Frostwolves desired with what Llane had wanted. There could be peace between the orcs of the Horde and the rest of Azeroth. But to do it, she had to be _recognized_ as one of them. Killing you would have given her status. Killing him made her a hero. And she speaks to those who have rejected Gul’dan’s ideals. Durotan, and you, showed the others what he is. Give it time. And for the sake of everything do not reject her out of hand when she extends a hand to you again.” Medivh looked at both of them in turn. “She hates what she had to do. She wept for him even as the others anointed her with his blood. She wept for what you would think – and stopped Gul’dan from killing you outright when the others saluted you and allowed you to return Llane home. I wanted better for her. But this is how… this is how things have happened.”

“Medivh I… I didn’t know she was…”

“You weren’t meant to.” Medivh chuckled, then looked at Khadgar. “As the Guardian, such things were forbidden. As Guardian, my humanity was supposed to be stripped away. But love… Ah, Anduin. Love does not follow rules. It cares nothing for vows. And it is strong enough to make you do things beyond your wildest dreams. My mate paid dearly for what we had. My daughter continues to. In a world and time where I was not fettered, I could have fought for them both – but if I revealed them…”

“They would have killed you – and ascended me decades early.” Khadgar’s voice wavered a little. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not be. You do not have the same chains. Fight for Azeroth, yes, but fight for yourself as well, Khadgar. You are not lonely. For that, I think, I am the most grateful. You will not have to suffer the weakness I had.” Medivh reached out and stroked his fingers along Khadgar’s cheek. “You will recover now. Nothing to be done about your hair or your eyes, but with the lines once again flowing properly, the land here will heal. The tower has been wiped clean of the damage I had done. And you – you will recover. Anduin —” Medivh looked at Lothar, reaching out his other hand, which the warrior took. “Do not let him run amok for a few weeks. Tomorrow, you will be strong enough to return to Stormwind before the others worry, and to celebrate the turning of the year. Let the new year wash away this past year. Remember but do not regret. Remember but do not wallow. Mourn but do not despair. I will be here if you need me. We will be here, Moroes and I. And Anduin —”

“And I will be in Stormwind, by your side.” Lothar took Khadgar’s hand in his free one.

“So rest. Tomorrow the day will dawn bright and warmer. And Anduin? Don’t stay awake all night. He could use a cuddle.” Medivh winked, took his hand from Lothar’s and patted Khadgar’s hair before standing.

“Thank you Medivh,” Lothar said, his voice watery. “I don’t… I can’t…”

“You have already. I told you. I’ll be here if you need me. Now rest. Both of you.” Medivh grinned, then turned to walk into the font, where he vanished.

Lothar looked at Khadgar, and reached out to wipe a tear away with his thumb. “He was … close to you, wasn’t he?” Lothar nodded. “And the king.” Lothar nodded again. “And they separated you.”

“We visited. He visited. But yes. We had a very close bond. And they severed too much of it. They can’t, with you. Now you’d said earlier that you were to take back a —”

The sound of something small and metallic striking the floor and wobbling still startled them both into looking down. Lothar picked up a ring, looked closely at it, then offered it to Khadgar.

“Token that he was passing Guardianship to me, yes.” Khadgar slid the ring onto his right middle finger, where it was still a little loose. “I am afraid I cannot explain this, but I will need you to come with me to back up my claim.”

“Well, he asked me to do so, so that is easily done.” Lothar frowned, curiosity eating at him for what the ring meant. He shrugged mentally and shifted some of the blankets aside. “Shift,” he said softly. “We have orders. And … I am exhausted enough to be a pillow.”

Khadgar chuckled, shifted, and as the last of the lights lowered, leaving the moon and the font as the only light, they fell asleep.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured I may as well post the last as well - to make up for not posting chapter 7 on time.

The morning of the day before the new year dawned as bright and warm as Medivh promised. Brightly enough that Lothar woke to a whimper and felt warm breath against his neck as someone turned to bury their face against his shoulder. He could see the light, bright against his eyelids and sighed softly. So it was morning.

The warrior shifted so he could pry himself out of the warmth of bed, only to find he was not in bed. He encountered the back of the couch, frowned in confusion, then realized that the reason he was so warm was that there was a mage laying mostly on him. While that was not an unfamiliar situation – it _was_ an odd one. Why was he sleeping with someone? He had not awakened beside anyone since his last visit to Karazhan before the _mess_ began. He opened his eyes and found that Khadgar had shifted in the night from laying beside him to trapping him somehow between himself and the back of the couch. Their legs were hopelessly tangled with each other and with blankets. Khadgar’s head was pillowed against Lothar’s shoulder, and it was his warm breath Lothar felt against the side of his neck.

He froze in panic. Why were they here? What happened? Khadgar never seemed inclined to cuddle… why were they sharing a _couch_ of all things when… oh.

_Oh._

The events of the previous afternoon and night returned to him in force. He shifted, and Khadgar whimpered again. “Come on, Bookworm,” Lothar said warmly. “Time to get up and face the day.”

“Don’t wanna. Warm.”

Well, considering that the mage was still rather hollow, that did make sense. He would be colder until he regained weight and his strength back.

“I know – but the year turns tonight.”

“Mmph. Fine.”

Khadgar rolled, and before Lothar could catch him, he rolled right off the couch. With a pained, startled yelp, Lothar realized that if Khadgar hadn’t been awake, he sure was now.

“You all right?”

“Yeah. Just. Floor. Stone. Ow.”

Lothar carefully extricated himself from blankets (and also freed Khadgar’s legs in the process), and carefully got to his feet. He extended a hand down to the mage, who took it, hauled himself to his feet, and wobbled as Lothar held him steady. It seemed as though some of Khadgar’s color had returned overnight, but his skin was still too pale, his cheeks still hollowed, his body still… aged.

“Right. Tea up here, or do we go down?” Lothar asked.

Khadgar gave him a look, then looked around. “Here? Need to… just…” He took a few wobbly steps, then gingerly sat down at the edge of the font, reaching in with one hand before giving up on decorum and sticking his legs in.

Lothar opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but he stopped, knowing that Khadgar would probably look at him stupidly until he had tea in him. He shook his head, and made a pot of peacebloom. He laced a cup with one of the stimulants, and brought it to Khadgar.

Khadgar moaned softly as he sipped, throwing a look of worshipful gratitude at Lothar, who smiled back at it. He went to make himself a cup of tea and moved to sit beside the mage, avoiding the energies of the font – he’d had enough of _that_ yesterday. “You sure you’re all right?”

“Drained ‘s all,” Khadgar slurred over his mug. He sipped in silence for a moment, then looked back up, his eyes already a little brighter for it. “Yesterday drained my energy, not just my mana reserves. Last night drained my emotional everything.” He drained his cup and set it down.

Lothar set his own mug down and stood, scooping up Khadgar’s and went to refill it. “It was a lot in a day. You scared the hell out of me.” He handed the mug back to Khadgar.

“I’m sorry. I just. I guess I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t want to be a burden – and I know you said I’d earned my place in Stormwind. But like I said, there are a lot of folk who don’t know that —”

“Doesn’t matter now. Everyone will know that you stopped the storm and put things right, and that you suffered for it.” Lothar sighed, picking his mug back up. “Taria’s probably having fits by now.”

“I can get us back before lunch.” Khadgar went quiet to keep drinking for a moment. “And that’ll be a relief. We won’t have to put up with our own cooking.” He shot a look at Lothar, his lips twitching.

Lothar looked at him, and smiled, his lips twitching.

They both managed to put their cups down before erupting into laughter. But only just.

It was somewhat hysterical, perhaps, but the release was necessary. And laughter, for all it made their sides hurt, was far preferable to tears.

They breakfasted on what leftovers were still good from the night before, then set about cleaning up. Khadgar paused more than once to see Moroes watching him from the corner of his eye, but when he turned, there was nothing there.

Dishes cleaned and put away once more, the guest room’s bedding changed and the bed made, they wondered what to do about the laundry. As Lothar opened his mouth to ask the question, Khadgar yelped.

A wicker hamper had appeared beside the door – and the lid on it swung open as they watched. “Oh,” Lothar said, stupidly. “Okay then.” They bundled the bedding into the hamper and Khadgar closed it, patting it gingerly.

The library was a bit harder, as Khadgar tried to remember what had come from where. He would never leave an untidy library – unless he was actively working. He knew that when they returned home, he would have to undo the mess he’d left.

Shouldering his satchel while Lothar gathered their cloaks, Khadgar felt something move. Lothar yelped. They both looked at each other, and then down at the satchel. “You don’t think…” Lothar started.

Khadgar shrugged, and carefully pulled the buckle loose. Within, resting on his notebooks and scribe supplies were the green and blue blankets, both with their pins on display. “A reminder,” Khadgar murmured, one hand gently caressing the blue one’s pin. “As if we could forget.”

* * *

Their return home was a little more eventful. They once again landed in Khadgar’s rooms, and Khadgar set down his satchel and pulled off his cloak to hang it. He handed Lothar the green blanket before they left, intending to head straight for Taria.

As it turned out, they were spotted by a guard, who went to find the Queen. As they approached the throne room, two whirlwinds came barreling towards them, the taller latching onto Lothar, the smaller grabbing Khadgar’s legs.

Adariall and Varian babbled rapidly, both of them clearly a mix of upset and overjoyed, and it took a few moments to understand that they were upset that the pair had vanished, that their mother did not know where they were, but were over the moons about them returning.

Taria wasn’t much better when they reached her. She nearly strangled Khadgar with her embrace, and when she pulled away to look at him, she rounded on Lothar and punched his arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“What have you _done_ to him?! You promised you’d watch over him and protect him!”

“He did, Lady Taria.” Khadgar’s tone was steady, considering. “We should sit down. This is going to take a bit to fill you in.”

* * *

More than once, Taria cried as they recounted their days spent in the tower, how Karazhan felt, how she acted, how Medivh and Moroes were still there. How they searched and finally were led to the way to put the ley lines right, and how to stop the storm.

Taria had the sad news that there had been deaths – and that word had come by magic that Lordaeron and Dalaran had both suffered casualties, but the dwarves of Ironforge were fine, if a bit ruffled from having a bit more snow than they were used to. The elves were spared most of the weather, but they did get a bit of the snow – enough that the children were playing in it, and enough to annoy the adults trying to clear the roadways. Gilneas had nothing negative to report either, other than some wind damage and weight damage on weaker buildings – which was a common complaint everywhere. Alterac was buried, but reported no known casualties, apart from the Pass.

“There will be flooding when it all melts,” Khadgar sighed, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I should look into what to do about that.”

“Later,” Lothar growled. “Weeks. No amok. You have done _enough_ for now.”

Khadgar chuckled. “I didn’t say I would do everything – but I can at least send out diversion instructions and the most effective way to build levies and breakwaters.”

Taria looked between the two shrewdly. “May I be nosy?” Both men looked at her. “Did something happen when you were at Karazhan?”

Lothar looked at Khadgar, then back at his sister. “You might say that.”

“Serious?”

“We’ve not really talked about it yet,” Khadgar answered. “Kind of new. A bit awkward.”

“For both of us.”

Taria smiled. “Well. It’s about time. You two have been staring at the other when the other wasn’t looking for long enough. Now. Enough bad news. It’s the turn of the year. Time to shed the pains of last year, and look forward to the new. We can talk over the speech and the night’s feast over lunch.”

Lothar looked at her, and sighed. “Thank everything _you_ were here to deal with all that.”

“As if I’d leave that to you. I know better. I love you, brother mine, but you have no head for planning a party.”

Lothar spluttered. Khadgar laughed.

And they went to have lunch.

* * *

The celebration spread through the city. The sun had melted much of the snow, and the rest had been swept or shoveled into the canals, which sent it out to sea. The lakes had frozen over, and there were torches and skating into the night. Those who had been unable to get out during the storm were well provided for, as there were tables laden with platters and pitchers straight from the Keep, kept warm by Khadgar’s spells, scattered at crossroads and canal bridges. Cold drinks were easy to come by to ease parched throats from song and skating or snowball fights. Warm spiced cider by the cauldron warmed them after. Fireworks sparkled in the sky, courtesy of Khadgar (who had to insist more than once that it took more of his energy to light a candle than set the fireworks to continue for an hour).

As the clock chimed each hour, cheers would erupt, loud enough to rattle windows. Though by the time it chimed Eleven, Lothar and Khadgar had vanished.

They were walking beside the pond behind the Cathedral district. There was a general memorial service with hymns, but no speech, going on through the night. Candles glittered on gravestones from visits, as well as tokens of carved stones, as was tradition.

The royal crypt had been kept open, and there were spaces specifically for visitors to leave such offerings. Lothar walked to where Llane rested, the urn of ash polished, standing beside that of his father. Khadgar kept a respectful distance as Lothar spoke, though the warrior clearly did not mind if the mage heard.

Most of Lothar’s words were of apology. How he had been too late. How his fate had been left up to himself and a half-orc woman who cared so much for those who had taken her in and helped her so much. How he had learned who Garona’s father was, and what had happened. How sorry he was to have doubted the woman when he found the dagger Taria had gifted her in his throat. And, of course, how much, and how badly his missed his brother. How he longed to hear his voice, calm and level in any crisis. He left a stone – as was tradition, beside the urn.

Khadgar had no words to say, but he bowed, perhaps speaking in silence. He turned to place his token on the shelf for visitors, but Lothar’s hand encircled his wrist. As Khadgar looked up, Lothar shook his head, and nodded at Llane’s urn. “You are family, Khadgar. You are no visitor. Not here.”

He watched as Khadgar placed a stone beside the one he left with a trembling hand – and noticed it was one of the ones he had with him; one of the crystals from the kit he always carried. When he turned to face Lothar again, his cheeks were wet.

They walked back toward the pond, and to cheer them up, Lothar suggested they try skating. Khadgar laughed.

“You don’t want to try to skate with me. I’m a disaster! I only learned because it was easier to cross Dun Morogh that way!” Lothar snorted. “I’m serious!”

Lothar shook his head and went to get runners for their boots. When he returned, handing a pair of the metal blades to Khadgar, the clock’s bells chimed, and the bells of the Cathedral joined it.

Midnight.

As the second peal echoed, cheers went up around the city. Skaters moved to the sides of the pond to cheer without falling.

Just before the last ring, couples began kissing around them. Lothar grinned, though the years before it had pained him, somewhat, to see a tradition he could not take part in without insulting Cally. This time, however.

Khadgar looked up at him. “Why are you gri—”

Lothar silenced the mage, sealing his lips beneath his own as the last chime rang out, heralding the start of the new year.

As he pulled back, Khadgar stared at him in shock. Lothar began to regret his brashness – until Khadgar leaned up and returned the kiss.

“To the new year. A new beginning. With me, Anduin?”

“With you,” Lothar kissed Khadgar again, a short, sweet kiss. “Khadgar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Liontrust Secret Santa, my mystery prompter!
> 
> And Happy New Year.
> 
> Thank you EVERYONE for reading my first proper foray into the ship - and the first long story I have finished in some time. My writer's block is broken. Time for this author to get back to work.


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